Of the Founders, there were Four
by Allicat9
Summary: Blood will have blood, so the saying goes and it is that legacy that the walls of Hogwarts were built upon. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff,Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Fate brought these four together to create the most famous wizarding school in the world. But can they're very different pasts be reconciled or will the secret that unites them all-destroy them in the end?
1. Chapter 1

_**PROLOGE:** I SHOW NOT YOUR FACE, BUT YOUR HEARTS DESIRE_

_Out of salt and tears and fire, _

_Came forth the Mirror of Desire_

_In whose depths the seeker sees_

_What he wishes all to be_

_For the mirror does not reflect _

_What features on the outside rest_

_But what is inside is clearly shown_

_It exposes what is not plainly known_

_Whatever the seeker most desires_

_Will consume him like flames of fire_

_For in the mirror the seeker sees_

_All that he wishes he can be _

_And so he will waste away_

_A slave for all his earthly days_

_Never shall he turn his gaze_

_From the Mirror's seductive haze_

_Only those seekers whose hearts are pure_

_Can find what they are looking for_

_But should they be wicked, they're hearts be dead_

_They shall never conquer the Mirror of Erised. _

A man sat in an empty room, writing, his quill scratching against the parchment the only sound in the silence. He was a young man, but had an air of wisdom about him. He wasn't handsome, but not ugly. He was very tall. He looked as if his mother had ingested a growth hormone whilst pregnant with him.

All and all he was a very odd looking fellow, made all the more odd looking by the peculiar clothes he wore. Well, they were odd to you and me and any muggle that happened to catch a glance at him though his gloomy flat's single window (unlikely to say the least, but point made), but not by his world's standards. You see, Archibald Florence was a wizard and in his world, banana yellow robes and a purple pointed hat were considered understated.

Now Archibald was a rather important man in his field of expertise (oh yes wizards do have jobs). He was an expert in ancient wizardry, an anthropologist of sorts and was currently cracking a code in ancient mermish (a very arduous task).

Just as Archie (as he shall henceforth be known) was setting down his quill and wondering aloud to himself what he should fix for lunch-his fireplace began to shoot green fire before expelling a very short, very fat man from it's interior.

Now, I know most of us would panic if such a thing were to occur in our living room, but as I said before, Archie was a wizard, and this was a perfectly acceptable means of dropping in in their world.

"Boris? My god man, how are you? It's been ages." Archie cried, standing up to greet his old school mate.

Boris Flanagan righted himself before returning his friends greeting with a firm, but quick handshake.

"How do you do Archie."

"I'm just swell, Boris my lad!" Archie grinned, "Hey, I was just about to have a cuppa, why don't you join me and we can talk about why you decided to drop out of the sky."

"I'm afraid we haven't got much time Arch." Boris said seriously, "Arch, I'm here on official Ministry business."

The grin slid off of Archie's face, "No, absolutely not Boris-I'm not going back, you know I won't not after-"

"I know how you feel Arch," Boris begged, "I really do-I'd feel the same way if it were me-but we've really got ourselves a puzzle here and, well, you're the best."

"Don't try to sweet talk me Boris, it won't work." Archie said, crossing the room and throwing himself into his chair.

"Come on Archie," Boris said, following his friend across the room, "Just come have a look see."

Archie sighed, interested despite himself, "What is it?"

Boris inhaled, "We don't know."


	2. Chapter 2 The Birth of a Legend

_**Of the Founders, there were Four-the first of which was Godric Gryffindor…**_

_Blood will have blood-So the Old Magic says_

_Blood will have blood-So cry the dead_

_Do not slay what is not yours to take_

_Or else Blood foes you shall make_

_But this is a warning none shall heed_

_Until it is their kin who bleed…_

**Chapter One-The Birth of A Legend **

_It will have blood they say: Blood will have blood._

_-William Shakespeare_

_Blood will have blood. _It was darkly appropriate, Desiderius Gryffindor thought, wiping the still warm blood from his blade. Morwyn lay before him, starlight reflecting in his glassy eyes. Never again would his old friend rise to great him, embrace him, it was hard to imagine. But Desiderius could not dwell on such emotions now. Such feelings would make him weak-he had done what had to be done. Nothing more. If he let such sentiment into his heart, he might just begin to-

_Regret_. The word flew forward from the dark recess of his mind. Desiderius flinched back from the harshness of its sting. It was a useless feeling he knew, for he could do nothing now. Even if he had his wand, Morwyn was growing cold on the ground, and no magic known could bring back the dead. Besides, Desiderius reasoned, Morwyn had deserved his lot. He had crossed the wrong man, and Desiderius' lord was not known for his leniency. It was necessary, he concluded, turning away from the corpse and ever growing pool of blood and mounting his house, which had stood, ever patient at his side.

It was a three hours ride back to the village. Hopefully he would make it in time. Desiderius was not about to miss the most important night of his life. He could not miss the birth of his son.

"Push my lady, push!" the chubby muggle midwife was the best they had been able to find, but Gisela could sense the air of inexperience around her yet. It was too bad, she mused as another contraction rippled though her, that they hadn't been able to find a healer. Wizarding births were so much easier then muggle ones.

But they had to make do. Times were dark, and her husband trusted next to no one. Sometimes she even felt that he suspected her, but of what she couldn't imagine. Gisela had done nothing but try and be a devoted wife to her husband, but it seemed like that was simply not enough.

Another wave of pain came over her, and she wondered if this was why her mother had had but one child. She had been told childbirth would be painful but she had underestimated just how painful it would be. It was comforting at least to know that she would bear a son. All else was of little consequence. Finally she would fulfill her duty as a wife.

The pain crested again, and Gisela could no longer keep herself from crying out. But thankfully, with a squelch and dribble of blood, her torment ceased. A cry tore through the air, a strong, healthy cry.

"Congratulations my lady-" the midwife cried, breathless with glee as she handed the wriggling child to her mistress- "It's a boy."

"A boy…" Gisela stared down at her baby-her _son_. Finally after generations of failure in her line, she, Gisela Blood, had managed to produce a living, healthy son.

"He's mighty strong my lady, mighty strong. He will make a fine man one day." The midwife said, smiling down at the young mother and her baby. Gisela Gryffindor was a good woman, the kindest lady in all of England. She deserved this victory, especially when the master had fathered only daughters from his pervious marriage. Now she would no longer play second fiddle to the memory of her predecessor.

"Thank you." Gisela said, not able to look away from her son's face. He was beautiful, she thought, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. He had his father's face, she could already tell, but he had inherited her chin and his eyes, his eyes were her own bright blue, staring back at her. He would make his father proud.

"My lady?" a tentative voice called from the doorway. A scullery maid peeked around the corner and into Gisela's chamber.

"My lady, the girls would like to see the baby, if you are feeling up to it?"

"Of course." Gisela smiled at the girl, "send them in."

Almost immediately two young girls bounded around the corner and into the room.

"Oh, let me see! Let me see!" The elder of the two, a chubby girl of twelve, threw herself across her stepmother's lap in order to get a glimpse of her family's newest addition.

"Peace, Gwenbrith," Gisela chuckled, "I'll let you see."

"Oh, he's perfect." The younger girl sighed, curling up into Gisela's side. Adela was the softer of her husband's two children. Where Gwenbrith was loud, Adela was quiet, when Gwenbrith was thoughtless, Adela was careful. A child of only six, Adela was very dear of Gisela

"What will you name him?" Adela asked, her wide blue eyes drinking in her little brother.

"Something strong." Gwenbrith asserted, "something that no one will ever forget."

"What about Arthur? After the ancient king of old?" The midwife suggested.

"He was a muggle." Gwenbrith said dismissively, not sparing a glance for the woman, "Our brother must be named for a wizard."

"What then of Merlin? Wasn't he the greatest of wizards?"

"I couldn't take him seriously if we named him Merlin." Gisela laughed, "A little pretentious, don't you think?"

"Godfry." Adela suggested, 'That's a noble name."

"Yes, but a mite too common, don't you agree?"

"Well then I don't know." Adela pouted, frustrated, burying her head in her stepmother's shoulder.

'Don't worry my dear," Gisela kissed the child's head as the baby in her arms gurgled, "We will think of something."

"Godric."

The sound was so sudden, that both Gisela and Adela looked up in surprise. Gwenbrith was grinning at both of them, glowing as though she had just had the grandest revelation.

'What was that, dear?" Gisela looked at her eldest stepdaughter.

"Godric. Godric Gryffindor. After my mother's father."

"After your mama's father?"  
Adela squealed, "Oh yes, name him after grandfather, please, Mother."

"I…" Gisela hesitated. She hated that the memory of her husband's fist wife still hung over the manor. Clarimond Lancaster was a cold woman by all accounts, but her husband had been quite devoted to her and her portrait still hung above the mantel in his study. To name her child after such a woman's father was…unpleasant to say the least.

But Godric Lancaster had been a great man, his conquests for the muggle king were legendary as well as his great kindness. He had not been the most skilled of magicians, but what skill he did have he used for the betterment of others. She should be proud to name her son for such a man, regardless of her own petty feelings.

Gisela kissed her now slumbering son's brow.

"Godric Gryffindor. It is a very unique name, for a very unique child."

"So is it settled?" Gwenbrith asked.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Welcome to Gryffindor Glen, Godric Gryffindor."

The storm was relentless as Desiderius rode towards his manor. In all his life in the valley, he had never seen such a storm. Not for the first time that night, he wished for his wand. But it was safe at his bedside, where his master bade it to be. For some reason, the master disliked Desiderius to use wands on his…missions. Apparently it wasn't within courtly standards to do so.

It didn't matter. Desiderius was a simple man at heart. As long as the supply of gold in his vault never dwindled, he was loyal to his master, and his master was loyal to him.

Far off on the other side of the glen, a figure watched the knight ride south. Its face was partially hidden in shadow, and an observer would not have been able to discern it's sex, but as the lightning flashed, two facts were revealed. First, the figure was clutching a diamond necklace in its hand, and second, as it's eyes followed the knight as he disappeared over the hill, a sinister smile played on the corner of it's mouth.


	3. Chapter 3 The Spare

_**And is there a better second place to begin-Then the torrid past of Salazar Slytherin? **_

_Something wicked this way comes_

_With the Fire of one thousand Suns_

_For nothing in the world burns and smothers_

_Like the jealous heart of a younger brother…_

**Chapter Two-The Spare**

_By the pricking of my thumbs,  
Something wicked this way comes._

_-William Shakespeare_

Salazar Slytherin. A wonderful name if she did say so. Adelind Slytherin smiled to herself as she stroked her son's head. His wide green eyes stared up at her, blinking innocently. He would be a great and noble man one day, she could feel it.

Adelind smiled to herself as she gazed out the castle window. One of the loveliest things about her husband being in a position of power was living at court. Not that Slytherin Castle was anything to sneeze at, but the king's palace was truly a sight to behold. They had everything they could ever want, and King Egbert was so very generous with his coffers.

The doors to her chamber burst open and little Pythois burst into the room seconds ahead of his harried looking muggle nurse.

"Mother, mother!" he cried, reaching out his pudgy arms and pulling on her dress, demanding to be picked up.

"I'm sorry my lady." The muggle nurse gasped, bending over to catch her breath, "But he is a wild child that one."

"Yes he is." Adelind cooed, putting Salazar gently down in his cradle and lifting Pythois into her arms, "You will rule this land one day-won't you Pythois?" she nuzzled his cheek.

"Yes, mama." The little boy giggled, tugging on a loose strand of his mother's night colored hair. The child was the spitting image of his parents. Adelind and Velos were first cousins, and both had the midnight black hair and high cheekbones the Slytherin family was so known for. Pythois had inherited every asset each of his parents possessed. Adelind just hoped he would know how to use them.

"I love you Pythois." She whispered into her son's hair. He giggled.

"That tickles Mama!" he turned towards her and stared up at her with his wide green eyes.

"I love you." She repeated, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I love you too Mama." He grinned up at her before hopping off her lap. "Let's go play!" he commanded his nurse before taking off into the corridor once more. Shaking her head, the nurse took off after him.

Adelind laughed after the pair, never tiring of her eldest son's boundless energy. She leaned over the cradle once more and lifted her son into her arms once more.

"You have such a good brother Salazar." She smiled as she brushed her lips against his tiny forehead. "I know that one day you'll be the best of friends."

_**Four years later…**_

"Come on Salazar, come outside!" Pythois Slytherin called out to his younger brother from the castle gardens, straining his little neck upward so as to better see his four year old brother peering down at him from the second story manor window.

"No." Salazar called down, crossing his pudgy arms resolutely, "I won't come out; you'll just push me down again!"

"That was one time!" But Pythois grinned at the memory. He was six, going on seven, and nothing thrilled him more then picking on his younger brother, especially when his friends were around.

"Make him come down!" Prince Ethelwulf demanded, coming up behind his friend. The prince was seven years old already and the only child of the old king. He was used to having his every desire indulged and he wanted to see Salazar fly, like Pythois had made him do last time.

"I'm not coming down!" Salazar called back, having heard the young prince's command.

Hearing this, and liking it none at all, Ethelwulf squared up to the window, "Well, I am Crown Prince of England and I command that you come down."

"I don't have to listen to you!" Salazar asserted, though he sounded a bit unsure of himself.

'Yes you do, yes you do!" Pythois said in a sing-song voice, skipping around the gardens gleefully.

"No I don't!" Salazar cried, getting more and more agitated. His tiny face, usually pale, was a tomato red, and his little fists were balled up and clenched to his side.

"Come down here or I'll come up there and get you!" Pythois threatened, growing tired of the game.

Salazar weighed his options carefully. Even at a mere four years of age, his mind was able to make such comparisons. If he went down on his own, it would hurt a lot less then if his brother came up to get him.

With a resigned sigh and a weary shake of his head indicative of a man much older then him, Salazar made his way down the manor steps.

"Hah!" the prince cawed in triumph as soon as the child came into view, "Look how he comes-not so mighty now Salazar? Now that you're not up in your tower?" the price shoved the toddler hard in the chest and Salazar fell to the ground.

"Look at him, he can't even get up!" the prince cackled, Pythois joining in rather hesitantly. It was all well and good to pick on his brother when he was safely out of reach was one thing, but to allow another boy to lay hands on him? A prickle of guilt jumped up and down Pythois' spine at the sight.

"Look at him! Look at you're brother! Rolling around in the dirt, right where he belongs!" Ethelwulf was beside himself with glee.

Salazar finally managed to get to his feet, his face flushed as he glared at the young prince, "You belong in the dirt!"

The courtyard went silent as both older boys stared in shock at the younger one. Even Salazar seemed shocked at what he had said.

"What did you say?" Ethelwulf asked, his tone turning menacing.

Salazar swallowed hard, but he did not back down, "I said that you belong in the dirt!"

"How dare-!"

"You're nothing-you can't even use magic!" Salazar cried, heady with his newfound bravery, "You're, you're…you're nothing but a muggle!"

"You little-" Ethelwulf lunged for him, but Salazar was quicker, with a BANG the young prince was blasted off his feet and landed thirty feet away in a heap, moaning.

"Salazar!" he turned to see his mother running out of the manor, "What on earth…?"

"Salazar attacked the prince, Mother!" Pythois piped up, "I saw the whole thing!"

"Salazar why on earth would you do such a thing?" Adelind asked, a frown creasing her delicate brow. A muggle nanny had run to the prince's side.

"I didn't I-"

"You did, don't lie!" Pythois grinned at his own cruelty.

"Shut up!" Salazar cried, tears springing to his eyes. Rather then stay and endure the humiliation of having his brother see him cry, Salazar turned on his heel and ran off into the garden, ignoring his mother's cries to come back.

_She always takes his side._ Salazar thought as he ran, the tears finally coming free and leaking down his face, _She never listens to me._ And that thought only made the poor child cry harder.

He ran without thought, without direction, and without much idea where exactly he was going. With tears obscuring his vision and the garden overflowing with exotic plant life, it was no surprise to him when he ran into something. What surprised him was what he had run into.

It was a woman, or, what he thought was a woman. He couldn't tell because its face was obscured by a black cloak that reached all the way to the ground. But the figure had long hair, longer then his mother's, and only women had that long of hair, his child's mind reasoned.

But what was this woman doing in his garden? Salazar's father was a very private man, and had put up many protections around the manor; surely this person could not have simply walked in?

"Hello Salazar." Its voice was hiss that sent shivers up and down the young boy's spine.

"Hel-hello." Salazar stuttered, taking a nervous step back.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you my young friend." The voice assured, holding out one wrinkled hand, "I was just wondering if you would care to take a walk with me?"

A walk? Harmless enough, Salazar concluded in his child's mind. Besides, he was in his own garden, it was likely that this person had been invited to stay, and it was rude to ignore a guest.

"Ok." But he did not take the strangers hand. But the figure did not seem to mind. It turned and, without a glance back, began walking deeper into the miniature forest of plant life.

Salazar hesitated for only a moment before his curiosity got the best of him and he followed his mysterious companion into the garden.

They walked in silence for a long while. Salazar's father loved plants (more, some thought, then he loved his family at times) and thus his gardens were the most extensive and beautiful in the country. On Salazar's part, the silence was out of necessity, his companion's strides were twice as long as his own, and he could not ask questions and keep the pace at the same time.

Suddenly, the figure stopped and Salazar nearly ran into him. They were in the exact center of the manor's gardens, where Salazar's mother had placed a fountain. She was quite proud of it actually. It had been in the Slytherin family for centuries. His father had levitated it to its current position.

"Now Salazar," the person hissed, "I just know that you and I will be perfect friends, don't you agree?"

"Who are you?" He hadn't ment to sound so insolent, but the question that had been plaguing his mind bubbled to his lips before he could stop it. A sick, uncomfortable feeling had formed in the pit of his stomach and the child couldn't help but feel that this person had something to do with it.

It laughed, a throaty, deep, and bone chilling laugh, "Who am I? Such a curious mind for one so young! You may call me Evermore."

"Well, what do you want?" to Salazar, this seemed the most logical follow up question.

"What do I want? Well what does anyone want, wealth, power, fame, glory…I think the real question is-what do you want Salazar?"

"What do I want?" young Salazar furrowed his brow in confusion. This person, whoever and whatever it was, was the most frustrating person Salazar had ever met, no one else said things to his half so vague.

"Yes my young friend, what is it that you most desire in the entire world? It can be anything-anything at all…and I will give it to you."

"Why?"

The figure paused, obviously not having expected this rather astute question from the four year old.

"Does it matter? I'm offering to give you anything, and asking nothing in return-does that not prove my pure intentions?"

"No."

The figure laughed again, more heartily this time. "Oh, you are smart; I didn't expect you to be so smart! How's this Salazar," it leaned closer to him, so he could almost see inside its hood, "I'll make you a deal."

"A deal?" his father made deals all the time, Salazar remembered, if his father did it, that couldn't be so bad.

"I can show you great things Salazar, things you can only dream of, wonders that you could never imagine." Its voice was hypnotic, carrying on the summer breeze, and Salazar found himself growing strangely weary, the sick feeling in his stomach morphing into an intense pain in his forehead.

"I'll teach you magic as old as time itself," its voice became so low that Salazar had to strain his little ears in order to hear, the pounding in his head becoming stronger as he did, "And all I ask is that, when the time comes, that you help me."

He could barley see straight anymore, the pain was too much for him, everything was shifting, he was so dizzy….

"Do we have a deal, Salazar Slytherin?"

He was so dizzy…

"Salazar, do we have a deal?" the figure extended its wrinkled hand again.

"Yes…" he whispered. Anything to make it stop.

"Good."

And then, with a flash of blinding bright light, everything went mercifully black.

"Salazar! Salazar!" his mother's frantic voice woke him.

He was lying on the cold stone of the fountain, his cheek pressed against the granite. The garden seemed to have returned to life since his strange companion's departure. Bugs buzzed, birds chirped, and the fountain bubbled happily in the background.

"Mummy? I'm here mummy!" he called, sitting up quickly, just as his much came hurdling through the bushes and gathered him up in her arms, covering his face with kisses.

"Salazar, oh Salazar, you frightened me so." She whispered against his forehead, "Where have you been all this time?"

"I…right here mummy." He had been about to tell her about his little adventure, but had felt a twinge in the back of his mind that made him think better of it. After all, he didn't want his mummy to know that he had been rude to a guest.

"Never do that again." His mother said, in a voice that would have been stern if he hadn't seen the tears in her eyes.

"I promise mummy." He said, throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. He hated seeing his mother cry. She was too beautiful and wonderful for that.

"Let's go back to the manor." His mother said standing and taking him with her. Cuddled in his mother's arms, he felt warm and safe and he forgot his harrowing experience in the gardens, wondering instead what delicious food the servants had prepared for them.

Neither of the Slytherins noticed the unwelcome addition to their garden as they made their way back to the castle. Curled around a tree, watching them very intently, was a giant, black snake with the most curious yellow eyes. As it watched the retreating figures, it made its way higher into the branches, as though to keep them insight. It was not until they disappeared into the manor that the snake seemed to relax.

Salazar may have forgotten his little adventure, but the adventure did not forget him. And if there is one rule that all must learn in their time it is-never forget your promise to a snake.

**REVIEW! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF WIZARD GOD REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4 Angel's Light

_**Far off in a tower, nobles knelt in awe-Of the beauty of the little Lady Ravenclaw…**_

_I bear a charmed life_

_Devoid of feeling pain or strife_

_But answer me this-if you can at all_

_Does not lack of feeling make a lifeless doll?_

**Chapter Three- Angel's Light**

_I bear a charmed life-William Shakespeare_

They had waited so long for this. Richard Ravenclaw hurried down the castle corridor anxious to be of some use to his poor wife. He was not allowed in the birthing chamber (of course not, it wasn't proper), but he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous that he would not be among the first to lay eyes on his child.

_His child._ He beamed at the thought. Incredible as it seemed, he was about to be father. They had feared that his wife was infertile, there had been a time that he had believed himself to be infertile, but that to had passed and now, what had seemed impossible had come to fruition. He would finally have a family all his own. It filled him with boyish glee.

So caught up in his thoughts was he, that he almost walked past the kitchens which would have been rather unfortunate. Madam Elaine, (wonderful woman, he always did like her, no matter what Mother had said), seeing how put out he was on not participating more fully in the birth of his child, had sent him to fetch some water for his beloved.

"My Lord!" All the servants dipped into deep bows and curtseys when he entered.

"Now, now, no need for that." He said impatiently, waving them off, "I require water in this bucket."

"Water? Of course my Lord." One of the maids hurried forward and (bowing many times as she took the bucket from him) proceeded to run to the courtyard and fill it before running back to give it to him. He could have done all this himself of course, with a flick of his wand, but Richard was a Ravenclaw and doing such menial things for yourself was just _not done_.

Now that he had possession of the water, he could move much faster. Levitating the bucket before him with a casual flick of his wand, Richard started back up the corridor.

Madam Elaine said that it would be within the next half and hour. Richard hoped she was right. He didn't think he could wait any longer.

He was only was allowed to the opening of the hall where the birthing chamber was. He handed the bucket to a very resigned looking nurse (she was a traditionalist) and asked, almost breathlessly, "Has it happened? Has it-"

"My Lord." The nurse interrupted him, looking as though she was making a great effort not to roll her eyes, "I assure you that when the birth happens, you will be the first to know."

"Thank you." He nodded nervously, dismissing her with the nod of his head. Women like that made him nervous; he wasn't quite sure what to make of them. He came from a world in which women followed a very strict code, and men followed suit. Women like that nurse, well, they simply confuded him. And if there was one thing that made Richard Ravenclaw nervous, it was being confounded. '

Richard leaned back against the cool stone of the hall. Ravenclaw Castle had been built by his ancestors centauries before any other castle of significance had been even conceived of. It was protected by some of the strongest and oldest enchantments of all time, enchantments that were re-enforced almost daily. It was two hundred and forty seven rooms, not including ballrooms, the dungeons, or the kitchens. No other castle on the isle of Britain even came close. Ravenclaw Castle was a legacy, and Richard was prouder of that legacy then he was of anything else in his life.

And his child would now get to share in that legacy. He or she would be born with the magical force of the entire Ravenclaw line behind them. One of Merlin's grandmothers had been a Ravenclaw! They counted Ptolemy among their ancestors! This child would be blest; there was no doubt in his mind.

Suddenly, there was a commotion down at the end of the hall. The nurse that had so frightened Richard before burst out of the room, wand still clutched in her hand.

"My Lord," she cried, running towards him and beaming, but Richard already knew what had happened.

He darted past her and flew into the chamber. There, on the bed, lay his beautiful wife Agatha and in her arms, (Richard was nearly knocked off his feet by the strength of the wave of overpowering love that suddenly rushed through him) swaddled in a white blanket, was his child.

He staggered to her bedside, collapsing by her side.

"Congratulations, my lord," she whispered, the light shining in her eyes, "You have a daughter." She pulled back the blanket so that he could see her.

She was beautiful. Stunning. The most beautiful baby he had ever seen. And that wasn't just because she was his, but because it was true. Already he could imagine himself fending off her potential suitors. Thick black curls already sprouted from her tiny head, and she had inherited her mother's large blue eyes and graceful forehead. Richard could barley find any trace of himself in her.

"What do you want to name her?" Agatha asked, leaning into his shoulder as they both stared at their child.

"Rowena." He had chosen the child's name months ago, and Agatha did not protest. Instead, she smiled and kissed their daughters pale, perfect forehead.

"Rowena Ravenclaw it is."

"My angel." He whispered, and he scooped her from her mother's arms. Agatha had had nine months to embrace her; he could not restrain himself one more minute. He pressed his lips to her hair, his eyes towards the heavens, "Thank you."

_**Ravenclaw ababac ababc ajfptn knrgnrntrjn fnsfnsdjfn fjsnfskjfnsjn Ravenclaw**_

She wondered if he suspected anything. Agatha had watched her husband for weeks now, waiting for him to give any sign that he knew the child was not his. He had given none. Gryffindor had still not returned to her, and she was growing more concerned by the day.

He had been her right had ever since she was seven, growing up in the shadow of her elder sister on the Lancaster estate. They had been close in age and Gryffindor had been assigned to protect her by her uncle, Mattinias Lancaster. Clarimond had fallen for him, a poor squire's son, and her father (good hearted as he was) had given Desiderius knighthood.

She had married better then her sister. That, at least, she was proud of. Clarimond had ended up in the wild moor land, a minor lady in a town of muggle peasants. She had married into the oldest and wealthiest family in the country. Her sister had always been more talented, both at magic and lady-like skills, but Agatha had made up for it later in life. She had taken Desiderius from her sister, hired him, trained him; given the one thing she knew he desired above all else-power. She had taken in his best friend too, a man from the village where Gryffindor lived. A handsome, rugged man with the power to ruin everything. Morwyn Gleeson.

He was a muggle. That should have stopped her. He was arrogant. That should have stopped her. He mocked her. That should have stopped her. But she didn't stop. And then she fell pregnant.

She shouldn't have told him. She knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Morwyn had been ecstatic; he wanted her to run away with him, to go live in the mountains and the forest with him. _We could be so happy_, he said.

But he didn't understand-she already was happy. The only thing marring her happiness was him.

He wasn't going to keep his mouth shut. He was going to tell her husband. She tried to fend him off with magic, but she was not the most gifted witch, and he just kept finding ways around her spells.

Finally she had Gryffindor kill him. It had been easy enough to do. He owed her uncle his life and fidelity. Her uncle had been furious when she had told him of her predicament, but he had taken the burden off her shoulders. She had felt bad about how it had all turned out, after all, Gryffindor was an old friend of Morwyn, but it had to be done. Nothing could be allowed to destroy her world. Nothing.

She had set her uncle's servant that task weeks ago, and he had yet to return to her with news. She did not fear that he had deserted that. No, Gryffindor had too much misplaced loyalty for that, but she worried that her plan might have been thwarted in some way.

She could not fail.

"My Lady?" Agatha jumped so violently she dropped the goblet she had been holding. It clattered to the floor, the clanging masking the silent tension that had suddenly formed between the room's two occupants.

"Gryffindor, I expected you back weeks ago." She tried to sound as cold as she could, she did not want to admit that he had frightened her. But as Desiderius emerged from the shadows his face was as impassive as ever, giving no indication that he had even noted her change in tone.

"I am sorry, your grace." The assassin dipped his head in a small courtesy bow, "I had…other matters that required my attendance."

"And what," she hissed, abandoning all pretence of noble dignity, "what pray tell, was so important that you felt the need to abandon me in my hour of need? Before I had even given you leave!"

"I hardly abandoned you my lady." Desiderius raised one, thin eyebrow that managed to make him seem equally detached and disdainful, "I had to be present for the birth and christening of my son."

"You had more pressing engagements!"

"I consider the birth of my heir a pressing engagement."

"You work for me!" she shrieked, her voice echoing down the halls. Casting a dark look around, she continued in a whisper, "If you continue this way, there will be nothing for your so called 'heir' to inherit! I will be sure of that!"

"May I remind you my Lady," Desiderius said his voice hardening for the first time, "that I am in the employ of your uncle…not you."

"And may I remind you," Agatha seethed, her face flushing with rage, "That I am a member of one of the most ancient and powerful magical lines of all time! And," she smiled darkly, "my uncle might put more stock in my desires then those of a servant."

"I wouldn't count on it, your grace." A ghost of a smile flickered across the knight's face, "He's favored you much less since you have become a whore to muggles. Good day." And with a slight nod, ignoring the look of stunned rage on the Lady Ravenclaw's face, he turned and slipped back into the shadows.

/insert page break/

However much Desiderius despised the Lady Ravenclaw, he had to admit, as he strolled through the halls, that her husband's family had impeccable taste. Everything in the castle seemed to be made of one precious metal or another. This place was truly a work of art. And if there was one thing that Desiderius appreciated, it was a work of art.

He could hear laughter from the courtyard, no doubt the fool Ravenclaw playing with his bastard daughter. How could he not see? Desiderius wondered as he rounded the corner, the yard coming into view. Lord Ravenclaw was leaning over a bassinet, maids on either side of him, cooing over the child. He scooped her into his arms, laughing as she gurgled, before covering her face with kisses. How could that man not see what was staring him, literally, in the face? The pretty child was clearly no relation to the homely Ravenclaw and only her hawk like eyes came from her mother. Desiderius shook his head as he mounted his steed; men could be such fools when it came to family. He counted himself lucky to have a dead heart. It was so much better use to him now then when it had been beating inside his chest.


	5. Chapter 5 The Murder

_**The night the Hufflepuffs celebrated- there was a clear sky-How could they know they soon were to die?**_

_Evil and Good_

_Are small matters dictated by perspective_

_All one needs is to take the directive_

_To declare what is good _

_And what, then, is bad_

_To weed out the weeds_

_And keep the world going mad_

**Chapter Four-The Murder **

_There is neither Good, nor Bad-but thinking makes it so_

_-William Shakespeare _

The small kingdom of Snowdonia was, perhaps, the most beautiful place in all the realm. Its vast mountain ranges, deep river valleys, and moderate southern temperature made the land rich in precious metals and fertile planting ground. The people there were well fed and happy, magicians were a celebrated and respected people, and there was an overall feeling of deep seated contentment amongst the masses.

And that was why the Hufflepuff family had to die.

Atheos Lancaster observed the tiny valley kingdom from atop his mount, wind cold mountain wind whipping back his hair. His icy stare held nothing but contempt as he studied the muggle farmers and merchant wizards alike moving about their day. Their proximity was disgraceful. He employed muggle servants out of necessity-his holdings were far too vast for magic to care for alone. Even the blissfully idiot he bowed to in mock subjection was a pawn in his ever expanding game of chess. But his checkmate depended on the king's continued good favor.

Egbert could not be controlled by spells or potions. That bothersome Slytherin (who was, unfortunately, both clever and talented) made sure that the king was protected from that. Instead, the good king had to be manipulated and controlled by cunning alone. Luckily for Atheos', he had a lot of cunning on his side.

"The time is right." The clocked figure beside him murmured, "We must act tonight, before they become cognoscente of our presence."

"What could they possibly do against us?" Atheos jeered, "We have power behind us that even the devil has only dreamed of."

"The Weasley man might prove to be a difficult opponent yet."

"Nonsense." Atheos scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal, "You overestimate that family my dear friend. That _boy_ is of no more consequence then a single blade of grass."

"Nevertheless, I suggest we make our move quickly. The stars are always changing."

The figure looked upward towards the starless morning sky. Atheos rolled his eyes. As useful as his companion had been, his patience was wearing thin. It seemed as though his mysterious alley was oftentimes purposefully vague and unhelpful. But no matter. The time would soon come when this stranger would out run his usefulness as well. Until that time, Atheos would just have to humor him.

/insert/page/break/

Far down in the little valley Goodwin Weasley was just beginning his day, completely unaware that his circumstances in life were shortly about to drastically change. He was a young man, perhaps twenty or so, perhaps a few years older. It was rather hard to tell given his boyish looks and shock of red hair. But he was married, so he couldn't have been too young. Most in the town couldn't remember how old he was, or where exactly he had come from. He had just showed up years ago (some say fifteen summers ago, some say it couldn't have been more then nine) and, (given his obvious magical ability) been taken in by the kindly Lord Hufflepuff and made his page and, eventually, his personal scribe.

Goodwin's parents may have been magical themselves, but then, they may not have been. People had heard it both ways. And, anyways, it didn't matter a great deal. Besides his rather mysterious background and outrageous hair, Goodwin was a model of citizenship, kindly, generous with his time and talents, and quite gentle with both human and animal. Though the Weasleys were by no means a wealthy couple, they lived comfortably off the salary Lord Hufflepuff afforded them.

This morning was, like all mornings in the valley, a beautiful one, (though perhaps a bit too sunny, if you know what I mean). Rose was in the kitchen already her stomach (though heavy with child) had not broken her habit of early rising.

"After all dear, I am a Bones." She would say, as if that answered for all of her character traits, which, when he thought about it, he supposed it did. The Bones family was one of the most industrious wizarding families in town. He was lucky, not only to have married his perfect woman, but to have gained the perfect family, something he had been lacking since the age of nine. Goodwin was well and truly blessed.

He had to remember that when he saw the Hufflepuff's out with their child. He had to remember that when he felt the pang of disappointment when his wife turned around when he called her. He had to remember that when he kissed _her_ and felt Rose's lips kissing him back.

"Good morning dear." Goodwin called as he entered the kitchen, kissing his young bride on the cheek and patting her tummy affectionately.

"Good morning." She smiled, "there's breakfast on the table. I want you to eat before you run off this morning."

"You are aware I'm sure that I do 'run off' to my job every morning?" Goodwin said as he sat down and bit into a biscuit.

"Yes, I'm aware." She said a bit testily, patting her belly, "I just hope that Lord Hufflepuff will be more lenient with you, once the baby comes. I want you to be here, with us."

"Oh, I'm sure he will." Goodwin said absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair so he could see the front of the Hufflepuff manor, "My God, there's a line already!"

'Did you expect anything different?"

"Yes! It's the morn of his granddaughter's birth! The crier announced it at a little past one this morning! Surely others heard it?"

"Those people need his help, Win." Rose said quietly, "And Lord Hufflepuff is certainly the most generous with his talents." She didn't mention that she was sure her husband cared not for the distress of his lord so much as the child that the child had actually arrived.

"Yes, I know." Win conceded, shaking his head, "But I must go and assist him."

"Hurry back." Rose called as he kissed her swiftly and hurried out the door.

"I will!" he cried, turning and lifting his hand in farewell. He got one last glimpse of her standing in the doorway of their cottage, he blonde curls falling to her waist, one hand cradling her stomach, the other mirroring his before he was swallowed by the morning crowds.

/insert page break/

At that very moment, on the other side of the valley, Jacob Malloy was beginning what was promising to be a very bad day.

"Get up you cowering sack of stool." This crude call was followed by an unexpected meeting with the hardened soil of his family's hut and a swift kick to the rump. Jacob yelped and tried to scramble away but what pulled up by his hair.

"I said get up!" a shower of spittle and the overpowering stench of body odor and alcohol assaulted Jacob' nostrils. His father hurled him to the floor once more and stumbled over to the fire, muttering what sounded like 'useless' under his breath. Jacob angrily swiped his arm across his face before getting to his feet; he didn't want his father to think that he was crying.

He grabbed his threadbare coat and rushed out the door before his father could turn round again. He headed towards the hills that encompassed the valley. He had left the sheep in pasture yesterday. Hopefully they had managed the night.

It was drizzling slightly, and he pulled his coat around his ears to block them from the morning chill. As he tramped through the mud and muck that covered the path before him, he tried in vain to unclench his fists. Honestly, he should be used to such treatment by now. His mother could no longer protect him, weak as she was, and his father was becoming steadily more violent as Jacob grew. Many days he feared that his father would kill him and, honestly, Jacob probably wouldn't blame him. It was his fault that his mother was so ill.

Brun and Celsa Malloy had lived in relative peace at the edge of Snowdownia for years as shepherds, poor but happy. They had had a daughter, Miriam, who both of them had adored. But when she was a mere seven summers, the fever took her away. And so Celsa had pleaded with her husband for another child and Brun, still heartsick from the loss of his daughter, but wanting desperately to comfort his wife, agreed.

And so Jacob had been born. He was the replacement child, a fact which Jacob had been made very much aware of his entire life. He had no doubt that his mother loved him, but her body had been broken by his birth, and she had never had the strength to care for him. His father hated Jacob. Brun may have been able to love him, had his son's birth not been so disastrous for his wife and had the boy not been so…strange. But Jacob was strange. Brun was not an educated man. He lived in the same hut that his father had lived in before him, and his father's father had lived in before that. He knew only sheep and open air, and his son's oddness reached far outside his level of comfort.

But Jacob could not help himself. Though he tried to restrain it, his strangeness would burst out of him and he didn't understand how he did it. How could he help that he could mend dishes with a glance? How could he help that sometimes candles would flicker to life with no fire, or that his mother's garden bloomed when he was happy even if it was the dead of winter? Jacob had learned to live with his mysterious aura. His father had not.

Just as he made it over the crest of the hill, the wind and rain picked up speed. Not wanting to catch a chill, Jacob ran to towards the cover of the forest, shielding his head with his hands. He was crouched under a thick willow tree, trying to catch his breath, when he became aware of voices.

"And where, exactly, is he supposed to be?" The voice was thick, rich and undoubtedly masculine.

"He's here." This person's voice was quiet, almost undetectable over the rain, and made the hair on the back of Jacob's neck stand up.

"Is he close?" the first man asked. Jacob tensed, leaning closer in order to hear. Surely they were not talking about…?

"Very close. In fact, he's listening in as we speak." The second voice chuckled. Jacob only had moments to be alarmed before the willow branches were pulled back, exposing him to the storm and the sight of the two figures standing before him, one with a severe face and elegant clothes, the other draped in a black cloak, face obscured by shadows.

"Hello Jacob Malloy." The cloaked figure murmured, extending a white hand towards Jacob, "we have a proposition for you."

Insert/page/break

Hector Hufflepuff was a man of large proportions. He had been a giant in his day, six foot seven, a master on the muggle battlefield. Now, in his advanced age he was of a more…rotund build. But the largest thing about Hector Hufflepuff was undoubtedly his heart. There was not a man, woman, or child in Snowdonia that had not, at one time or another, benefitted from his generosity with his family's wealth and magic. The Hufflepuffs were not the most talented of the wizarding families, but they were the most loyal to both their king and their people.

And this was a time for celebration for the entire valley. His only child, Edmund, and his wife, Delilah, had given him a grandchild. Helga. He smiled to himself, what a wonderful name for such a happy little girl. He knew that the people were already outside the gate waiting for his assistance and advice. Though he was tired from staying up half the night, he simply didn't have the heart to turn those poor unfortunates away.

"Good morning my Lord."

"Ah! Weasley!" Hector turned to embrace his young scribe, "I'm glad you are here early, it seems that we have a long day ahead of ourselves."

"Congratulations my Lord." Weasley said as they began their decent to the gates, "I'm sure your granddaughter is lovely."

"She is." Hector smiled, "Really I've never seen a more beautiful child. Did I mention she looks an awful lot like me?"

Both men roared with laughter as they descended the steps to the waiting, cheering crowds before them.

Insert/page/break

High above in one of the manor's lavish rooms, Delilah and Edmund Hufflepuff cooed over their newborn daughter.

"She's so beautiful Edmund." Delilah sighed, leaning down to place a kiss on her daughter's tiny, milk white forehead.

"Yes, just like her mother." Edmund murmured, running his fingers through his wife's golden locks. She was a marvel, his wife, he mused as he took in the picturesque scene before him. Never in his life had he imagined that he would feel so happy, be so blessed. She had saved him, Delilah had, helped him reconcile with his father (who she adored) and taught him magic that he had never believed possible.

Delilah Grey was, beyond a doubt, one of the most formidable magicians in the entire island. Her aunt, Arlene Grey was a power like no other known. The Grey family had delved into magic older then time itself and yet remained, as always, dutiful to their people. Helga had that legacy behind her and as Edmund stared at his gurgling, happy daughter he was sure, (thought he knew not how) that his daughter would change history.

_Insert page break_

It goes without saying that Jacob Malloy had never killed a man before. How could he, when he was just a shepherd who could sometimes make the impossible happen? He was nothing, a nobody, born to live and die in the shadow of anonymity. Recently however, this perspective had been called into question.

You see, Jacob had just been informed that he was a wizard by the magnanimous Lord Lancaster and his mysterious hooded friend. And if that revelation wasn't enough to lift Jacob's self worth, they had told him that he was an essential part of their mission to save all of wizard kind.

"You see son," Lord Lancaster had said, pulling him in close, "There are certain wizards who believe that men like your father are just as great and noble as we are."

Jacob frowned.

"But my father-he's not a wizard…is he?"  
"No Jacob." Lord Lancaster chuckled, "You alone are magical in your family. You alone have the power to manipulate the world around you. You, my dear boy, are simply one of a kind."

"So…if we are more powerful then they are. If we're better then them…" Jacob said slowly, "then how can they be our equals?"

At that moment Lord Lancaster's kindly expression took on a intense glow and he leaned in close, "That's just the thing, Jacob. They're not."

Insert/page/break/

_Lord Lancaster was decent and just man_, Jacob thought to himself as he gorged his empty stomach on roasted lamb and exotic fruit, _if he believes that this Hector Hufflepuff was an evil man, than he must be._

Jacob looked around his lavish tent. Lord Lancaster had told him to wait here to 'think over our proposition'. Meanwhile Jacob had been treated to a plethora of morsels he had not even dreamed existed before his strange encounter in the forest. Now, even with his stomach bloated and his every desire satisfied, Jacob still felt a hunger, a desire to please.

_You must not be indebted to anyone Jacob._ His mother's words floated back to him through the chasms of time. He was indebted to Lord Lancaster, he realized, for being so kind to him. The least he, Jacob, could do was kill this inferior lord.

They had explained it all to him. He was the only one, they said, that could end Lord Hufflpuff once and for all. Hufflepuff was a bad man, they whispered, and must be stopped. If he succeeded, they said, he would be rewarded beyond his dreams.

"You will have a new life." The cloaked man told him, "Where no strings from your former life can follow you."

A new life with no strings from his pervious pitiful existence. How could he not jump at this chance? So what if he didn't completely believe them, if his gut twisted every time he saw the hooded man. He could have his second chance at life. A chance to be wealthy, well known, powerful and, above all, respected.

Wasn't it everything he had ever wanted?

Insert/page/break

Goodwin stiffened a yawn. It had been a long day. The entire village it seemed (Magical and Muggle alike) had turned up to congratulate Lord Hufflepuff on the birth of his grandchild. It was amazing watching him. Hector was able to remember even the most inconsequential villager by name and recall details of their lives.

It was incredible to see him move amongst the people, they respected him so. Goodwin smiled and yawned before heading up towards the library, it had been a wonderful day indeed.

"Oh! Goodwin." He turned only to come face to face with Delilah Grey _(Hufflpuff! He kicked himself_). She was effervescent in the moonlight, he thought, the beams gave her blonde hair an otherworldly look, as though she was floating. She had always been lovely but tonight she was breathtaking.

"My Lady." He inclined his head.

She laughed and it sounded like tinkling bells- the sound made his heart beat as if he was running, flying, soaring. And this fantastic beating hurt him as much as it enthralled him; his guilt pulsed though his body with every one of his hearts traitorous beats.

Delilah was still smiling at him, blissfully unaware of his inner torment. Goodwin swallowed thickly and plastered on his best smile on his face.

"Goodwin, how are you? And please, call me Delilah. You've become so formal since you began working for Lord Hufflepuff."

"I've always worked for Lord Hufflepuff." Goodwin smiled. In a sense this was true. He had been Lord Hufflepuff's apprentice ever since he had set foot in Snowdonia.

She huffed in mock irritation, "You know what I mean."

"Tis my job, my Lady," Goodwin smiled and half-bowed once more, "Would you have me not perform my job? And, forgive me, but are you not supposed to be in bed?"

Delilah sighed and leaned against the stone wall, "Yes I'm supposed to be, but there's only so much time one can be cooped up in one room Win! I've been there for weeks, and I fancied a nighttime stroll." She giggled and held out her arm, "Would you care to accompany me good sir?"

It was unbelievably temping. Had they been five years younger he wouldn't have hesitated. But he had a wife, a wonderful wife, and though it was only a stroll, it would still feel like a betrayal.

'I'm sorry, my Lady." Goodwin stepped away, "I cannot accompany you this evening. I must return to my family, I'm already terribly late you see."

Delilah giggled again, "Oh Win, always so formal." She smiled, "I must be heading back up to the tower anyway, I'm sure Edmund is tiring."

At the mention of her husband Goodwin couldn't help but stiffen. "Goodnight then, my lady."

"Goodnight Goodwin." She said softly. And then, she had gone.

Goodwin turned and made his way down the grand stairs of the castle to the street below, shaking his head as he went. He pulled out his wand to open the gate and was startled when a young man in Hufflepuff garb stumbled though. He spared Goodwin one, terrified look before charging towards the manor.

_A servant late for his duties._ Goodwin smiled and continued towards his small cottage, whistling tunelessly to fill the silence of night that surrounded him.

He should have been paying more attention. His only warning was a single, shrill scream from the village before the world exploded around him. Goodwin was blasted off his feet, a wave of heat scorching his face. Everything was on fire. Figures cloaked in Black appeared out of no where, firing curses left and right, cutting down townspeople in the street.

And then a second, more horrible blast ripped though the air. Hufflepuff castle was aflame, consumed from within. The gates were thrown open and the black figures swooped in, slaying those trying to escape.

Goodwin jumped to his feet, pulling out his wand-he had to help, he had to save them, there was still time-

"Goodwin!" a horrid scream sounded from somewhere in front of him. His cottage was in flames, the thatch roof falling in on the stone walls.

"Goodwin!" he heard Rose shriek again, he could just see a figure stumbling around in the flames before smoke filled the doorway.

He would have run to her, he would have if the doors of the castle hadn't at that moment, been wrenched off their hinges with a BANG by eight of the mysterious attackers.

Goodwin didn't realize he had started running towards the castle under he heard his cottage collapse behind him. He couldn't feel, he couldn't think. Everything had taken on a fuzzy, dream-like quality. He stumbled through the broken castle doors, head spinning, lungs filling with smoke as he coughed and looked desperately around for any sign of Delilah.

_Did she have her wand with her?_ He couldn't remember, couldn't think. Figures in black capes darted in and out of his line of vision, firing spells at anything that moved. Goodwin clenched his wand tighter, but refrained from returning fire. The last thing that he wanted to do was to draw attention too himself.

He climbed the stairs to the tower quickly, Edmund and Delilah kept apartments at the very top-if she was anywhere it was there.

"NO!" the cry was sharp, fierce and unearthly in its agony. Goodwin made to duck behind a suit of armor outside the Hufflepuff apartments when he stumbled and nearly fell upon something soft and cold.

Looking down, Goodwin felt the icy twist of a knife in his gut as his bloodshot eyes met Delilah Hufflepuff's lifeless ones.

Goodwin stumbled back curling into his hiding place, his hands on his own chest, trying to hold himself together. She was dead. She couldn't be dead. He had just seen her, he had just spoken with her, he had just touched her. But she was dead. NO! She wasn't dead; she couldn't be dead, _stop saying she's dead!_

"Your wife is dead." The cold, rough voice in the next room sneered, ignoring Goodwin's mental plea. Goodwin could hear someone, a man, sobbing softly over the chaos.

"And," the voice continued, "You and your daughter are headed the same way." There was a pause, while the mysterious person seemed to consider something, "Yes, I think I'll let the two of you burn-a fitting ending for the famed Hufflepuff family."

The figure exited the room moving swiftly down the stairs without a backwards glance.

After a few, breathless moments during which Goodwin listened for any sign of the figures return, he stood and crept into the once outstations Hufflepuff apartments.

Servants and priceless artifacts littered the floor, lying where they had fallen. Goodwin's eyes were drawn, however, to the groaning man in the corner, draped over a crib.

"Lord Hufflepuff!" Goodwin cried, moving swiftly to Edmund's side. As Goodwin approached however, it became clear that the Hufflepuff heir was grievously injured. A large gash had opened his chest and every inch of his exposed skin was black and blue. It was obvious he could not move without causing himself extreme pain, but even still he fought to raise his head.

"Goodwin!" he gasped, his voice no more then a horse breath.

"My Lord!" Goodwin cried, kneeling next to Edmund and taking his hand.

"T-take her." Edmund rasped, moving aside so Goodwin could see inside the cradle.

A tiny baby nestled in a blanket bearing the Hufflepuff crest, lay there, still miraculously asleep.

"Helga." Edmund whispered, "Take her. P-please."

"My lord-"

The roof of the apartment caught fire then, the sudden heat finally waking the babe, who began to wail in earnest.

"Let's get you out of here-" Goodwin made to lift his lord from the ground.

"No time-too late…" Edmund protested. "Save her, please."

And Goodwin had no choice. He snatched the baby from her cradle and, covering her with his cloak, spared one last look towards her doomed father who stared back at him with a serene look on his face, before fleeing down the stairs and out into the courtyard, just as the roof of the Hufflepuff castle collapsed.

Insert/page break

Many miles away a boy watched the destruction he had caused. It had been so easy; the guards had not been on the lookout for a child. All he had done was undo the spells that had repelled his masters from the village. Child's play really.

A groan sounded from the corner.

"Ah, so you've finally decided to wake up."

Brun Malloy spat out a mouthful of blood as he glared at his son.

"Demon child, I should have drowned you when you were born."

Jacob ignored him.

"Father, I have come to the conclusion that I must seek my fortunes elsewhere."

"You don't deserve to breathe another moment-how could you do that to your mother, she loved you-"

"It's been coming on for a while," Jacob raised his voice, carful not to glance at the cot where the now cooling corpse of his mother lay, "but I know I've made the right choice."

"Jacob-"

"Don't call me that!" Jacob snapped, showing the first signs of emotion, "I have a new name now, befitting to my place in life."

"And what is that now?" Brun laughed.

"Julius Malfoy."

"HAH! You're disgusting! How-"

"Aren't you proud of me father?" Jacob asked mockingly, whirling around and pointing his wand right between his father's eyes. "Aren't you proud that your son is going to make something of himself?"

To his credit, Brun Malloy did not flinch. "You are no son of mine."

Jacob didn't meet his father's eyes when he killed him.

_Well that took a long time…can't say it's my best work, but it's something. REVIEW? _


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